


Days 28-31: Beaten. Numb. Recovery. Embrace.

by tbazzsnow (Artescapri)



Series: Whumptober 2019 [14]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Baz is trying to help, Embrace, Healing, Homework, Hurt and comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Penny, Mentions of the Mage, Recovery, Time Together, Whumptober 2019, beaten, growing closer, injuries, mentions of the minotaur, numb, somebody is definitely seducing a vampire, time the infirmary, translations from the Greek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-31 15:49:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21448726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artescapri/pseuds/tbazzsnow
Summary: Simon comes back to Mummers badly injured and Baz tries to do what he can. Hot showers and blood loss are a bad combination. Simon ends up in the infirmary, in the care of one of the healers, and Baz can't seem to keep himself away. Days of the two of them growing closer when Simon is back in their room.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Whumptober 2019 [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1541554
Comments: 18
Kudos: 255





	Days 28-31: Beaten. Numb. Recovery. Embrace.

##  [Whumptober Day 28,29,30,31](https://carryonsimoncarryonbaz.tumblr.com/post/188733775383/whumptober-day-28293031)

**Last fic of Whumptober. I didn’t get a fic written every day but I did get every prompt in a fic! This one is massive and self indulgent. Thanks for following along.**

Day 28. **Beaten**

Day 29. **Numb**

Day 30. **Recovery**

Day 31. **Embrace**

* * *

**Baz**

He comes in night after night, smelling of blood and sweat and fire.

I’m typically the one who’s out late but for the past few weeks Snow’s bed has been empty when I get back from the Catacombs.

I’m almost always asleep by the time he stumbles in but Snow makes such a racket, even when he’s trying to be quiet, that I inevitably wake up.

Not that he would know. I can fake being asleep. I’ve been doing it for years.

I inhale the scent of him, blood and all. I revel in his blundering around the room, tripping over his own book bag and cursing, the great thumping git. I catch glimpses of him, hair gleaming in the moonlight shining in from our window, his bare skin pearlescent in the glow.

He’s so fucking beautiful, even when he’s bruised and battered. It makes my chest go tight.

It makes me want to spring out of bed, makes me want to grab my wand and cast spell after spell on him.

Healing spells. Protection spells.

I don’t know what the Mage is up to. But it isn’t good.

He’s never worked Snow this hard, not night after night like this.

It’s affecting him during the day now. Snow’s not the most attentive in class, under the best of circumstances, but the past two weeks have been bloody awful.

He stammers even more than usual when he’s called on in class. Couldn’t even spit out a simple sentence in Elocution today. He drifted off to sleep during Greek. He’s got dark circles under his eyes and that haunted look to his face.

The one he has when he first gets back to school at the start of term. When he’s thin and drawn and half-starved.

But it’s not the start of term. It’s November and Snow should be back at his fighting weight, the angles smoothed to gentle curves on his face, his arms and chest filled out and firm, the flush back in his cheeks and the brightness in his gaze again.

Instead he drags himself up the stairs to the turret after class, sits down heavily at his desk, his head pillowed on his arms. He eventually rouses himself enough to get through some of his work, plods his way down to dinner and then disappears for the rest of the night.

I don’t know what to do.

I shouldn’t care.

But I do.

I care enough that I don’t even fuss at him. I don’t shout when he leaves his trackie bottoms on the floor. I don’t threaten him with bodily harm when he leaves the window open. I didn’t light him on fire when he accidentally knocked over my contraband Ribena (bless my aunt and her care packages).

I leave my Greek homework conspicuously accessible on my desk. I restock my stash of crisps. I make sure to wash the linens, even though it’s not my turn this week.

I’m not even sure Snow notices.

I’m already awake when Snow comes in this time.

I made sure I would be.

I can hear the door creak open and then his muffled groan as he closes it and leans against it, as if he’s much too exhausted to even cross the room.

Maybe he is.

He’s moving slowly, the scent of him sharp and sour tonight. More sweat than blood then. Good. I’ll be able to keep my head clearer that way.

I sit up when he’s halfway across the room, on his way to the en suite.

He summons the Sword of Mages and takes his defensive stance when I do, only to sigh, run a hand through his hair and put the sword down to lean on it like a crutch, when he’s sees it’s only me.

“Fucking hell, Baz.”

“Who did you think it would be, Snow? A goblin? The Humdrum?” I can’t keep myself from sneering at him.

I don’t want to, not right now, but it’s become second nature. Force of habit.

“Fuck off, Baz. Can’t help it when you burst out of your bloody bed like that.”

“Like what? Like I actually reside in this room and am bloody sick and tired of being woken from my sleep by your late-night blundering about?”

He actually looks contrite at my words. His shoulders slump and he winces, some unseen injury giving him pause. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

I’m seated on the edge of my bed, feet on the cold stone floor. “What’s been going on, Snow?” My voice comes out gentler this time.

He frowns, eyebrows drawn together. “Nothing, really.”

The scoff bursts out of me before I can help it. Snow’s frown deepens. “Come on, now, Snow. This is above and beyond your usual antics. The late nights. More bumps and bruises than usual. Your quests usually wrap up quicker than this. Has the indefatigable Bunce finally abandoned you to your own devices?”

It’s a full-on scowl now. “Leave Penny out of this.”

“It seems you already have. You’re usually coated in a few of her healing spells by the time you stagger in.”

“How would you know that?”

“I can smell her magic on you. Sage and intensity.”

“Yes, well, I do things on my own from time to time, I’ll have you know.”

He moves to his bed and gingerly lowers himself onto it, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. He looks a mess—hair disheveled, a wide smudge of mud on his cheek, shirt torn and stained, trainers covered in muck.

A lovely mess.

I sigh and pull my wand from the nightstand. “Alright then, Snow. Let’s clean you up.”

He puts up a hand. “Baz, no. I’d rather take a shower.”

He’s always hated other people casting cleaning spells on him. I know that.

I’m not sure what I’m doing. The urge to help him is overwhelming tonight.

I nod my head. “I can cast a _‘get well soon’_, since Bunce isn’t here to do the honors. If you’d like.”

We stare at each other in the dim light. I can see it when he nods back, a small gesture, tentative, unsure.

But it’s still a yes.

I point my wand and cast a **_“get well soon” _**with as much decorum as I can muster. I watch my magic pulse through him, see it in the way he straightens up and lets his eyes fall closed.

Snow tilts his head back and rolls his shoulders and it’s the most sensuous thing I’ve ever seen, the long line of his throat on display, freckles and moles faded in the low light.

Fuck, he’s beautiful.

“Thanks, Baz.” It’s soft and low and I want to hear his voice like that every time he speaks to me.

“Are you alright, Snow? It’s awkward hearing you thank me.” I am an absolute disaster. I can’t even let myself enjoy this without ruining it somehow.

But Snow just laughs. “Right? About as awkward as you healing me.”

“Are you alright though? Should I do it again? Try a _“right as rain”_ or a _“good as new”_? Crowley, I’m babbling.

He tilts his head, looking for all the world as if he’s actually considering it. “Let me see how I am after a shower. I still feel pretty wrecked, even with your spell.”

That worries me. That spell should at least have taken the edge off, as much of my magic as I put into it.

“Who or what did you have a run-in with tonight?”

He’s blissfully unaware that I can see him in the dim light, that I can see the moment the frown fades from his face and he makes the decision to speak. 

“A pack of ne’er-do-wells.”

“A pack of them?”

I’m incredulous. One ne’er-do-well is problematic. A pack of them would have been a disaster. “How are you still standing?”

He gives me a wry look. “I’m not.”

“How bad is it?”

Snow scrubs at his face with his hands, then clutches at the curls in his hair for a moment before looking at me again. It’s a much more thoughtful look this time, appraising. “Bruises mostly, I think. They got in some good kicks before I went off.”

“Let me see.”

“What? No. I’m fine. Or rather I’ll be fine, once I’ve washed up and had a bit of a rest.” Snow stands up, movements stiff and slow, keeping a hand on the bed to steady himself.

I’m on my feet as well and waving my wand to turn on the lights. Snow blinks and squints at the brightness.

I have a moment to school my features when he does. It’s not a smudge of mud on his face after all. It’s a bruise. Under his eye and there’s one along his jaw as well. There’s dried blood crusted around his nose, the bridge of it wide and flattened and the end of it a bit crooked. Broken then.

He’s got scratches and scrapes all down his arms and I can see gouges in his skin through his torn shirt. He’s leaning to his left, tilted a bit, arm across his abdomen protectively.

“Snow, you should go to the infirmary.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.”

“That doesn’t matter. They’ve got steel-toes, ne’er-do-wells do. And brass knuckles. You could have internal injuries.”

“I’m just a bit beat up, Baz. Not the first time, not the last. Let me take a shower, yeah?” He’s swaying on his feet and before I know it I’m across the space between us with an arm around him, supporting his weight.

He pushes at me. “Get off, Baz. I’m fine.” He’s wincing again as he says it.

“The last thing you are is fine. What the hell is the bloody Mage playing at, sending you out against thugs like that?”

Snow sighs but he stops trying to squirm away from me. I adjust my grip on him and we take a few tentative steps towards the en suite. “There’s been a surge of activity lately. Not sure why. Not just ne’er-do-wells but the goblins again and trolls too.”

“Aren’t the goblins always after you?” I push open the door to the bathroom and Snow shuffles in.

“They’ve finally figured out they’ve got a better chance if they come at me in pairs.”

“Took them long enough.”

“Well, they may be fit bastards, but no one ever said they were all that bright.”

I can’t have heard him right. Did Snow just say goblins were _fit_?

He shrugs. “Fit as pop stars, they are. Haven’t you ever seen one, Baz?”

Fucking hell, did I truly say that _out loud_?

I’m ready to set myself on fire but Snow just keeps chattering, as if the fact that he’s going on about dark creatures being fit isn’t a revelation. “Surely, you must have seen a goblin at some point? Yeah, the green skin is a bit off-putting but they’re still handsome devils, the lot of them.”

I won’t have to set myself on fire. I’ll just spontaneously combust if Snow keeps this up. I can’t help snapping at him. “Of course I’ve seen goblins, Snow. I just hadn’t expected you to be affected by their charms.”

I wonder if Snow is delirious. Maybe he had an encounter with some other creature, before the ne’er-do-well thugs got to him. He could be feverish, poisoned. It would explain why he’s saying ridiculous things like this so nonchalantly.

I prop him up against the bathroom sink and lean into the shower to turn on the hot water. I’m thrown off by this whole encounter. Out of countenance. I don’t even know what to say.

I press a hand to his forehead as we wait for the water to heat up and then immediately regret my life choices. He’s warm but not unduly so, at least not to my chilled hands. He gives me a weak grin, the muppet. He’s paler than he should be. I don’t like that at all. “I’m not sick, Baz.”

“I just wondered if you’d gotten yourself poisoned or drugged. You’re talking nonsense, you know.”

He tries to shrug but ends up grimacing in pain again.

“Come on, Snow. Get your shirt off. The water’s bound to be hot enough now.”

His lips curve up. “Not going to give me a spot of privacy then?”

I should never have indulged in half a dozen rats tonight. My face flushes instantly at his words.

I’m not quite sure what to do, honestly. Snow and I have never disrobed in front of each other. It’s not something we do. I certainly don’t expect him to strip down in front of me but at the same time I’m reluctant to leave him alone when he’s obviously injured.

What if he loses his balance or gets light-headed? Gets dizzy, and Merlin forbid, passes out?

Why do I even care? One less problem for me, if Snow puts himself out of commission with a self-induced head injury,

I don’t want him hurt. I don’t like seeing him like this.

He looks vulnerable and I can’t quite cope with that at the moment.

“I can’t trust you not to do something stupid, in your addled state, Snow.” I frown at him, as the steam rises from the shower and condensation starts to form on the mirror behind him.

“I just want to get cleaned up and go to bed, Baz.” Snow shakes his head at me and slowly, haltingly pulls his shirt off.

I’m riveted at the sight. Scars criss-cross his chest, snaking between the constellations of moles and freckles that dot his skin. Healed stab wounds, slashes, silvery old scars, livid new ones, cuts and abrasions that are still raw and seeping.

The scent of blood hits me, as one of the gouges on his chest starts to well up again, the dried blood ripped off when Snow removed his shirt just now. Crowley, I need to get away from him. 

I back away, stumbling my way towards the door. “I’ll just get my wand,” I stammer. “You need those cuts seen to.”

Snow’s eyes follow me as I turn away from him and dash back into our room for my wand. I count to ten and take a few breaths away from the scent of him, even though he permeates the room anyway. It always smells like Snow in here.

I stagger back to the doorway, keeping my distance from Snow’s shirtless form. _**“Get well soon,”**_ I cast again.**_ “Time heals all wounds.”_** The cuts on his chest seamlessly close, the gouges narrowing as I watch.

There’s a nasty, purple bruise on his flank, swollen and dark. It doesn’t change when I say the spells. I don’t like it one bit. What’s there?

His kidney? Spleen perhaps?

A well-placed kick can rupture a spleen. I’ve learned that from football. Doesn’t take all that long to lose a significant amount of blood.

Fucking hell, I can’t leave him alone after seeing that. He shouldn’t be here, let alone showering.

“Snow, let me take you to the infirmary.”

He shakes his head, stubbornly jutting his chin out at me. I know that look. “I’m taking a shower, Baz, like it or not.”

“Infirmary after.”

“There won’t be anyone there, this time of night.”

“Then we’ll wake someone up.”

“Go on. Out. Let me clean up in peace. We can talk about the infirmary when I’m done.”

I stand my ground. I’m not going anywhere, not with this moron in imminent danger of damaging himself further.

“I will not. You want a shower, you take it with me here, Snow. I’ll not risk you falling down in a faint and the Anathema blaming me for your demise.”

“You are a right arse, you know that?” Snow’s voice is low and raspy and it should not be affecting me this way.

I sit down on the toilet and turn my face away from him, wand at the ready. If he starts to fall I can at least cast a_ “stand your ground”_ or a _“cushion the blow”_ on the tile floor.

Snow sighs. “Fine, then.” His track bottoms get tossed at my feet and it takes everything I have to keep my eyes focused on the door.

This was a terrible idea. I’m stuck here now, listening to Snow groan as the hot water hits him. I can smell the standard issue soap he uses. I can hear the rasp of the washcloth on his skin, the intake of his breath as the rough weave of it catches on what’s left of the scabs and healing gouges on his chest. 

The splash of water on the shower curtain. The pop of the shampoo bottle opening. The sigh that comes from him as he starts to wash his hair.

The faint scrape of his fingers against his scalp.

I can’t do this. My eyes are closed now, giving Snow the privacy he needs, but the images of him that are filling my head are agonizingly erotic.

I wish I was the one washing his hair.

That my fingers were catching on that tangled mess, gliding through his curls, smoothing the coils of them out, carefully, tenderly. 

That I could watch the trail of water droplets slide slowly down his chest, his back, across the taut muscles of his abdomen.

Lower.

Fuck.

This is going to end me. I’m going to meet my doom sitting on the fucking toilet at the top of Mummers listening to Snow’s painfully erotic shower sighs and moans. My family will never live this down.

The sound of the water shutting off shocks me back into the moment. “You alright, Snow?”

My words come out shaky, breathless. Fucking hell.

“Been better.” The shower curtain rattles open. “Hand me a towel, will you, Baz?”

Will the humiliations never cease? I stand up and grab a towel from the rack next to me and lean towards the shower, eyes resolutely fixed on the floor.

I will not look at Snow.

I will not look at Snow.

“It’s alright, Baz. I kept my pants on.”

I blink. Snow’s track bottoms are still in a heap at my feet but I don’t see his pants.

I whip my head up to glare at him. He’s standing just outside the shower, the towel wrapped around his waist, hair a glorious, dripping mess.

There is a water droplet gliding down his chest and I am completely mesmerized by the path it takes. 

Snow’s body tilts and he’s slumping towards the sink. I’m at his side instantly, arm around his waist, my skin against the damp heat of him. “What the hell, Snow?”

He shakes his head, spraying me with water. “Just got a bit light-headed there.”

“That’s it. I’m taking you to the infirmary.” I maneuver him over to the toilet and sit him down on it.

His towel gaps open when he leans against the wall and I see his pants—standard issue black boxer briefs, soaking wet.

The bloody nightmare actually kept his pants on while he showered.

His eyes are half-closed but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “Didn’t want to offend your delicate sensibilities, Baz.”

My delicate sensibilities have been overly aroused by this encounter. 

I clear my throat before I speak this time, endeavoring to keep my voice cool and detached. “I’m going to dry you off now, Snow.”

He raises an eyebrow at me, the absolutely infuriating muppet. Can’t even keep himself on his own two feet but he’s still being cheeky.

Crowley, I love him.

“Not that way, you nightmare.” I raise my wand and cast a_** “dry as a bone.”**_

Snow’s curls spring up as the water drains away from him. I see no reason to check his pants. I know my spellwork is flawless. 

I snatch some of Snow’s clothes from his wardrobe and between the two of us we get him dressed. Track bottoms. Hoodie. The usual.

His pallor is more pronounced than before and I am certain that bruise is larger. I cast another round of healing spells on him before I try to stand him up to march him to his bed. I use a **_“lighten the load”_** to make is easier for him to walk.

His color doesn’t change. He’s still unsteady on his feet.

I could carry him down the steps, I suppose, and over to the infirmary, but that raises its own host of issues. I could go get Ms. Possibelf. I could go to the infirmary myself and rouse the healer.

That would mean leaving Snow alone and I’m not prepared to do that.

In the end I choose perhaps the worst compromise. I wake up Dev and Niall to help.

“What the fuck, Baz? It’s two in the morning.” Dev’s hair is standing on end and he’s bleary eyed.

“Fuck off, Baz.” Niall glares at me from his bed and then pulls the covers over his head.

“Shut up, the both of you. Snow’s gone and done something stupid and I don’t want him to die in our room and trigger the Anathema simply because I failed to provide adequate first aid.”

“Isn’t ending Snow basically the master plan?”

I’ve often thought of kicking Dev and this seems an appropriate time to strongly consider making that dream a reality. 

I restrain myself.

“Listen to me. These are our options, Dev: you can go to the infirmary and get the healer for me while I stay in the room with Snow. Or you can stay with Snow while I go get help. Or you and Niall can help me carry him directly over there.”

“That’s all shit, mate.” Niall’s up now, scowling at me. “You don’t need both of us for that. Dev can watch Snow and you can get help and I’ll fuck off back to bed.”

Which is exactly what he does.

Dev stares at me. His shoulders slump and he leans against the door frame. “Fuck it all. I’ll stay with Snow then. Don’t take all night.”

It doesn’t take all night. One of the third years had a sleepwalking accident so the healer is already awake.

“You’re sure it’s an emergency, Mr. Pitch? Mr. Snow is far more resilient than you might expect.”

I can’t help being testy in my response. “I’m quite aware. I’ve lived with him since first year.” I take a breath and soften my voice. “I’m concerned about internal injuries. I’ve cast a host of healing spells on him but it’s not making much of a difference.”

She sighs.

“Very well then. Can you get Mr. Snow here?” She points to the third year, who is peacefully curled up on one of the cots. “I can’t leave Colin unattended at the moment.”

I trot back to Mummers and pound on Niall’s door on my way up. He’s grim when he answers.

“For fuck’s sake, Baz.”

“Listen, the healer can’t come. We’ve got to get Snow over there somehow.”

He snorts. “Just chuck him over your shoulder, mate.” He pats my shoulder firmly. “You can manage it.” He gives me a knowing look.

“I’d rather not advertise that at the moment, if you don’t mind.” Me carrying Snow single handedly across the courtyard would certainly raise suspicions. Even with a spell.

In the end Niall comes with me, whinging incessantly, and despite Snow’s protests we end up successfully getting him down the stairs of Mummers.

Well, they do. I don’t quite trust myself to touch Snow at the moment, not after the enticing visions I had of him while he was showering. I do hit him with a _**“light on your feet”**_ and cast a **_“carry that weight”_** on Dev and Niall. I am helping, in my own way.

It doesn’t stop them from grumbling. “He’s your fucking roommate, Baz. Don’t know why I’m suddenly responsible for him. The Crucible appointed you for that role, not me.”

“Shut up, Dev.”

“Can’t you just spell him, Baz? Surely an _“early to bed”_ and a _“just what the doctor ordered” _should perk him right up. This is surely old hat to him after all this time.” Niall shifts his arm to steady Snow.

He’s swaying on his feet, even though he’s held up on either side by Dev and Niall. His freckles are standing out in stark relief against the pallor of his face, his pupils wide in his blue eyes.

“I am right here, you know,” Snow interrupts, eyes half lidded and head sagging onto Dev’s shoulder.

“Ah yes, Snow, how sporting of you to contribute to the conversation.”

“Shut up, Niall.”

Thank magic the infirmary is on the first floor. We stumble in with Snow and deposit him on one of the empty cots. Dev and Niall fuck off back to their room, still griping about it all as they shuffle out the door.

I stay.

It only takes a few moments of examining Snow for the healer–Ms. Galenus, I think– to spring into action and start scolding him. I get the sense it’s not the first time they’ve had such a conversation. “What on earth were you thinking, Simon, going to your room with these injuries instead of coming here to be healed? How many times have I told you to stop by, even for a minute, so I can sort you out before you settle in for the night?”

“Didn’t want to be a bother. It’s not bad, really. Just tangled with a pack of ne’er-do-wells.” He smiles up at her, still downplaying it all. “I’m just a bit bruised up.”

She stands over him with her hands on her hips, scowling down at him. “I’m the healer here, Simon. Let me be the judge of that.” Her voice is tender, at odds with her expression. She presses her hands over his chest, his abdomen, his forehead, her eyes staying focused on his.

I’m not very familiar with the infirmary. I avoid it as much as possible. Don’t need to encourage too many questions. Ms. Possibelf dragged me here herself when Snow broke my nose. It’s the only other time I’ve been here.

I am fascinated with what I’m seeing now, the way the healer is assessing Simon, scanning him from head to toe for injury and muttering a variety of spells as she does it. I can hear some of them. Ones I’ve heard before but others are less familiar.

** _“Blood is thicker than water.” _ **

** _“Hale and hearty.”_ **

** _“On the mend.” _ **

** _“Picture of health.” _ **

She puts her hand on Snow’s nose and shifts it a bit as she mutters a _**“healing hands.” **_

It looks better already.

She’s certainly an improvement on the charlatan who set mine.

Ms. Galenus finishes up with a _**“goodnight, sleep tight”**_ and a****_**“gentle sleep, Nature’s soft nurse.”** _I’ve not heard that one used before. 

Snow’s head sags on the pillow, the tension draining from his form. His body is still, his chest slowly rising and falling, breaths deep and even.

“Is he alright?” I’m leaning forward.

The healer brushes Snow’s hair off his forehead and lets the back of her hand rest there for an instant. “He will be. It’ll take a bit, but he should be right as rain in a few days.” She turns her gaze on me. “It was good you brought him in, Mr. Pitch. A ruptured spleen is a disaster waiting to happen.”

Bloody hell. I was right. Those fucking ne’er-do-wells.

“I wondered, with that bruise.”

She nods. “Yes, that’s a hallmark. How long ago did he return to your room?”

I give the details and she snorts at me. “A shower! Merlin above, the boy is an idiot. As are you, for letting him do that. Standing in all that heat, while he was losing blood. No wonder he got light-headed. It’s a good thing he didn’t faint and knock his head against the tile.”

“I told him it was a terrible idea.”

“Seems you were not persuasive enough.” She sighs and pats Snow’s shoulder. “He’s a difficult one. Tries to soldier on, he does.” She brushes his hair back again. There’s a maternal tenderness to her motions and I wonder how many times Snow has ended up here.

Her next words are so quiet even I can barely hear them. “When will it ever be enough for him?”

I don’t think she’s referring to Snow.

“You don’t have to stay, Mr. Pitch. I’ve got him sorted.”

I don’t want to go. So many years, so many times, I’ve numbed myself to Snow’s misery. I’ve blocked out the groans as he maneuvered himself into bed. Turned my eyes away from the bruises, the cuts, the stiffness of his gait. Ignored the way he’d grimace as he pulled his jumper on.

I let myself believe he deserved it. Verbally sparred with him when he was at his worst, instead of giving him solace.

He soldiers on. That’s what she said.

It’s what he does. He does the Mage’s bidding. Never questions it. Snow puts himself on the line time after time, night after night, mission after mission. For the Mage’s twisted power struggles. To acquire magickal relics and talismans the Mage is too craven to go after himself. To tangle with mythical beings and dark creatures for what purpose? 

It’s as if this is all some test of Snow’s powers, his abilities, his limits.

How can the Mage consider setting one boy against the Humdrum? Using one boy as a weapon against the Old Families? It’s ludicrous.

It’s cruel.

I’m not turning away any more.

“I’ll stay, if that’s alright.” I shift in the chair, settling myself. “Just to make sure he’s okay.”

“Suit yourself.” She narrows her eyes at me. “You can take a cot, you know.” She waves a hand around the nearly empty ward. “You can have your pick.”

I shake my head. “I’m fine here. I’ll just stay for a bit.”

“I expect he’ll be here a few days.”

I nod.

She stares at me for a moment longer but I look away, to where Snow is gently snoring.

He’s still too pale.

Snow ends up being in the infirmary for almost a week. Five days to be exact.

And five nights. Five nights that I spend alone in the excruciating silence of our room.

I miss the way Snow slams the door open every time he comes in the room. I miss the way he drops his bag on his desk and then trips over his own mess on the floor. I miss the sound of him humming in the shower. I miss the scent of him—sweat and spice and smoke.

It’s only been a few days but it’s faded even from my heightened senses.

I can still catch a hint of it, if I lean close to his pillow and breathe in. Which I do far more often than I care to admit.

I’m weak. I’m a constant disappointment to myself.

I go see Snow every evening, before I head to the Catacombs. I can’t bring myself to stay away.

I miss him. There. I’ve said it. I’ve humiliated myself once more, for the sake of Simon Snow.

I know for a fact that Bunce heads to the infirmary at tea-time and stays through dinner. I don’t know when Wellbelove visits him. Or if she does. Things have seemed strained between them this term.

I try to time my visits so they don’t overlap with Bunce. She’s got an unnerving glare and I would prefer to avoid her. It’s not so much her looking _at me_ as looking _through me_ and it’s frankly unsettling in its intensity.

I’m not sure if Snow tells her I visit him.

I don’t know why I go see him.

That’s I lie. I know very well why I do it. What I haven’t figured out is how to come to terms with the truth of it.

I love Snow.

I’ve loved him for years. I didn’t realize the tangle of emotions that flamed in me at his presence was love until fifth year. It’s been a struggle ever since.

So every night this week I’ve gone to the infirmary. I’ve brought Snow his school work.

And some of my salt and vinegar crisps.

I’ve helped him with his Greek. I’ve gone over his Elocution with him. He still looks surprised each time I walk in the room but then he grins at me and I know I made the right decision to come.

I help him do his exercises. It seems the ne’er-do-well attack did something to his shoulder. On his sword arm side. It’s healed but there’s a stiffness to it still. So I count the repetitions and criticize his form.

He’s recovering. The color has started to creep back into his cheeks. He was as pale as me, the first few days.

Injuries of the spleen can result in a tremendous amount of blood loss. The healing spells can stop the bleeding, restore the function to the organ, speed up the process of regeneration. What they can’t do is replenish the blood loss. That part has to progress naturally. This detailed medical information comes courtesy of Ms. Galenus, who has yielded to the compulsion to regale us both with the severity of Snow’s condition at every opportunity, likely in an attempt to make us feel worse about our flawed decision making that night.

The upshot is that Snow is expected to be a bit under the weather for a few more weeks. It takes time to recover from an internal injury of this magnitude.

So no strenuous activity. No missions. No swordwork.

Normals usually have surgery for this. Emergency surgery, with blood transfusions and intensive care stays.

Snow’s hardy, there’s no question of that, and he’s a quick healer under regular circumstances, but I think his training regimen prior to this injury took too much out of him.

Fuck the Mage. I hope the healer gives him a stern talking to about all this.

Not that it will do any good. The man’s a menace.

I’ve got my chair pulled up right next to Snow’s cot. His Greek textbook is on his lap and I’ve got my notebook spread on mine. He scoots to the edge of the bed and I can feel the heat of him, he’s so close. His head is bent low over the book, his curls hanging forward in his face.

I’d give anything to run my fingers through them.

He’s scowling at the text.

Snow’s not as thick as I accuse him of being. He’s actually got a good grasp of the grammar and vocabulary, it’s just putting the sentences together that trips him up. He’s almost finished with tonight’s assignment, with very little assistance from me.

I wonder if it’s just the way the Minotaur presents it, that gives him trouble. He’s had no trouble when I explain it to him.

It’s the same with Elocution. He usually stumbles over his words but here, in the privacy of the infirmary ward, his words come out with a clarity and intent that’s often missing when he’s in class .

I wonder why that is.

I think perhaps I should offer to do this, when Snow comes back to our room. Suggest we do our school work together.

I don’t know what I’m thinking. That’s not something Snow and I do. That’s what he does with Bunce and Wellbelove.

Not me.

Why would he consider doing that?

He’d get better marks, that’s for certain, but I doubt he’d feel that was a fair trade for having to spend so much time with me.

Although it would certainly cut down on the time he spends stalking me. Kill two birds with one stone—do better on his school work and be able to keep tabs on me without having to leave the comfort of our room.

Perhaps I should suggest it.

I don’t have to.

“Baz, are you going to the library after class?” Snow asks me the first morning he’s back in our room.

“I wasn’t planning on it. Are you?” He usually meets Bunce there after tea.

He shakes his head. “I’m supposed to take it easy for a week or two. Avoid taking the stairs more than necessary.” His cheeks flush. “I thought … I thought maybe if you were going to be here maybe we could just keep doing what we’ve been doing?”

My heart thumps in my chest but I keep my face still, impassive, voice cool and detached. “Keep doing what, Snow?” I think I know what he means but I’m pathetically desperate to hear him say it. To have him ask.

“Do our school work together, yeah? Like we did when I was in the infirmary?” His eyes meet mine. “If you want to, I mean. You don’t have to. I know you were just trying to help and now things are back to normal so you don’t really need to if you don’t want to bother …” He’s heading into a first-rate Snow bluster.

I interrupt him, to put him out of his misery. To answer before he changes his mind. “I think that would be fine, Snow. We can do that.”

His eyes widen. “We can? You’re sure?”

I’m far beyond sure. There’s nothing I’d rather do.

Well, I’d rather pull Snow in my arms and snog him senseless but that’s never going to happen. This will do. I’ll still be close to him. Closer than I have been.

The desk chair is uncomfortable for Snow to sit in for too long so he parks himself on his bed, reclined against the headboard. My desk is too far away for me to be able to see his work and my bed is as well. I end up pulling up my desk chair right to the side of his bed, the same way we sat together when he was in the infirmary. It’s familiar, close but not too close.

It becomes a routine.

It’s weeks later and the Minotaur has piled on an excruciating amount of homework as we reach the end of the term. Snow and I have slogged through most of it tonight but there’s still a passage from the _Iliad_ to translate.

Snow’s probably fine to sit at his desk again but he stays in his bed and I keep my chair at his side. I think we both prefer it this way.

There are papers scattered all over his bed. He’s sitting with his back against the headboard, legs crossed in front of him.

Snow left his copy of the _Iliad_ in the classroom today so we’re trying to share mine. It’s not going well.

We’re holding it between us, both trying to copy down the text we need to translate. Snow keeps pulling it towards him and I keep pulling it back. It’s maddening.

“Would you stop?” I yank the book from him. “If we can’t share it we’ll just have to take turns. I’ve copied the wrong line twice already, thanks to you.”

“Then let me go first. I’ve still got Political Science reading to do after I finish this.”

I frown. “You should do your reading first, while I do the translation. That makes more sense.”

“If I do mine first you can check it over while I do my reading.”

We bicker.

It’s not like it used to be. There are no insults. I’m not sneering at him while I do it.

I can’t remember the last time I sneered at him.

I finally relent and let Snow take the book first. I’ve done my Political Science reading already but I take the opportunity to skim the next chapter. Snow’s muttering to himself and shuffling on the bed.

“What are you on about?”

“I just can’t get this part figured out.” He points to a passage.

I crane my neck to look. “Bring it closer, Snow, stop making me lean over like this. I’ll get a crick in my neck.”

He huffs and shifts it slightly. I’m still twisted in the chair, trying to read while he holds it in front of him. “Just give it here, let me look at it.” I reach out for the book.

He pulls it away.

I frown at him. “I don’t know how you expect me to help if you’re being an arse about it, Snow. I can’t see what you’re referring to when you’re hoarding the book like this.”

“You don’t even know which part is giving me trouble.”

“I would, if you’d just show me the book.”

“I am showing you the book.”

“You’re not. I’m practically having to crawl up onto the bed to see it.”

“So why don’t you?”

“What?”

Snow scoots over, brushing papers away so they flutter onto the floor in disarray. He pats the mattress next to him. “Come on then.”

I stare at the spot his hand is patting. I stare up at Snow. I stare back at the mattress. “What?” I say again.

Snow rolls his eyes.

“Just get over here. You said you were craning your neck, trying to lean over to read. Come sit here and I can show the part I’m struggling with.”

It feels like I’m moving in slow motion: standing, shifting my chair away, gingerly sitting on the bed next to Snow. There’s room on the far side but he’s not scooting over so I’m forced to sit close to the edge so I don’t bump into him. “Budge up,” I say. “You’re not only monopolizing the book, you’re hogging the bed too.”

He shifts over slightly, barely enough to let me settle a bit less precariously on the mattress. I try to take the book from him but he pulls it away again, making me groan in irritation.

“I’ll hold it,” he says, shifting it to his right hand, which takes it even further from me.

I reach out with my left hand and grab the front flap of the book, pulling it my way, until it’s hovering between us. We have a brief tug of war before Snow relents and slumps back against the headboard, his shoulder bumping into mine.

I shift to give him a bit of space but he’s shoving against me again a moment later. I give up, letting his shoulder rest against mine.

It’s warm. I can feel Snow alongside me, shoulder to elbow. Hip to hip. The back of his hand brushing against my own. When did he shift so close? His foot bumps mine as he crosses his legs at the ankle, his forefoot almost resting on my shin.

He’s too close. I can feel the heat of him, even through his shirt. He’s rolled his sleeves up to the elbow and I can follow the pattern of freckles on his skin, the play of the muscles in his forearm as he shifts his grip on the book.

I try to focus on the words. I try to focus on the Greek in front of me, with the scent of Snow surrounding me. The lines blur together, the passage just a jumble of words.

“Which part, Snow?” My voice sounds thick, the words coming out slowly.

He’s intoxicating.

“This part.” I watch his hand rise up and point to the passage. I try to follow the words, not the path his finger takes along the page.

I’ve not fed yet but I can still feel my cheeks warm as I read the passage. Fucking hell. This isn’t what the Minotaur assigned.

I clear my throat. “That’s not the right part, Snow.”

“What? He said this whole part.”

“I don’t think so. I think it’s the page before.”

Snow puts the book down and scrabbles for a scrap of paper on the floor. He sits back with it in his hand, shoulder pressed against mine again.

Fuck, it’s warm in here tonight.

“Look. It’s this part. I told you.”

I scan Snow’s crabbed handwriting. I look at the book again. He must have written it down wrong.

“You must have written it down wrong.”

He frowns at me. “I’m sure I didn’t.” He kicks at my leg with his foot. “Where are your notes?”

I pull my assignment notebook to me and compare my notes to Snow’s.

Bloody hell.

He’s right, the ridiculous muppet.

He knows it too, he’s grinning at me now, leaning over to look at my own notes. He rests his chin on my shoulder as he reads and I feel a shiver ripple through me at the sensation.

I drop my assignment book and go back to the text.

“So,” Snow says, pointing at the passage again. “It’s this part. The one where Aphrodite and Hera are speaking.”

He speaks the words in halting Greek, stumbling over the pronunciations. It doesn’t matter. I know the passage.

_ **“There is the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing, the lover’s whisper, irresistible — magic to make the sanest man go mad.”** _

Fuck Zeus.

I’m going to go mad, trying to reread this passage with Snow leaning against me the way he is, with those words pulsing in my brain.

“What … what seems to be the problem for you, Snow?”_ Focus on the language, Pitch_. Not the passage, just the individual words. They’re just words.

“Do you think I should translate it as the _“heat of love”_ or the _“flame of love”_? It could be either, don’t you think, Baz?”

It’s flames. It’s definitely flames. I’m ready to go up in flames.

“That’s fine.”

“Which one?”

“Either. Both. It’s fine.” It’s most certainly not fine.

“And do you think it’s _“pulsing rush of desire” _or _“pulsing rush of longing”_? One sounds more romantic but seeing as there’s a seduction going on perhaps desire makes more sense?” Snow’s still going about the sodding passage.

There is a seduction going on here but it’s not the one he’s referring to.

There’s a pulsing rush of desire in me and it’s all directed at Snow.

I scoot towards the edge of the bed. Snow scoots with me.

“Uh. Um.” Merlin above, I sound like an absolute tit. “I think I’ve seen it as longing. Yes, longing, I think.”

“Hmm. Desire seems to make more sense to me.”

There is no space between us now. Snow is flush to my side, the heat of him making the longing rush through me. I’ve never identified with the_ Iliad_ more than at this moment.

Snow puts the book down. “Baz.”

My mouth is dry. I can’t look at him.

He says my name again.

I turn my head slightly, looking at him out of the side of my eye. He’s too brilliant to look at directly, particularly now that he’s been reciting stanzas about love and desire to me for the past five minutes.

I feel his fingers fleetingly against my cheek as he sweeps the hair back from my face and tucks it behind my ear.

I stop breathing.

His fingers brush their way along my jawline and he turns my face to his. “Hey.”

His eyes are so blue. Blue like the ocean. Blue like the sky. Vast and wide. I’m lost in them.

He’s holding my chin, his thumb brushing against my lower lip. I may die. I may meet my end here, on Snow’s bed, surrounded by a mess of notes and a ragged copy of the _Iliad_.

It would be a good death.

“So, I’ve been meaning to thank you.”

I blink at him. “Thank me for what?” My voice is shaky.

“For taking care of me, that night. For taking me to the infirmary. For keeping me company when I was there. For taking the time to help me with my assignments.” His voice is just above a whisper but I’m leaning closer as he speaks. “For spending that time with me.”

“I wanted to.” The words rip out of me. I’ve lost any filter. The proximity of Snow, the way his breath gusts against my skin when he speaks. I’ve lost all sense of reason.

“Wanted to what?” It’s just a breath of air.

“Take care of you. Help you. Protect you.” It’s out there now, what’s in my heart. What I’ve kept hidden for years.

“I know.”

He leans forward, both hands cupping my face, his lips so close to mine. I’m trembling.

_“Irresistible,_” he whispers.

And then he’s kissing me.

**Author's Note:**

> and that's it! All 31 one prompts filled! Thanks so much for reading, following along and commenting on these fics. It was a challenge and combining some prompts made it easier to get them all done. I hope you liked the series!


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